


Wrath

by imissmaeberry



Series: Forgive Me Father [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Angst, Body Horror, Breaking and Entering, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character Death(s), POV Second Person, Seven Deadly Sins, Vomiting, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 02:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20074375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imissmaeberry/pseuds/imissmaeberry
Summary: some people deserve to die. sometimes you can't wait for them to do it on their own.





	Wrath

_“today in the news, the CEO of Plydex corporation has denied all allegations that his company’s products contain any carcinogens or illness-inducing ingredients, despite over thirty defendants coming forward to sue him for medical bills as well as wages lost due to incapability to work._

_when asked for a comment, mr. chen had this to say:_

_“anyone who thinks that using my products has caused them to become sick must have been sick already. sick in the god d*** head.”_

_mr. chen’s lead researchers were not available for comment._

_and now, we go to the fashion report with -”_

_click._

_“if i have to hear one more fucking word about that scumbag denying everything he’s done to those people, i swear to god....that man deserves to rot.”_

_the news was always full of such things. murders and robberies, corporations putting out piles and piles of toxic waste and toxic products and denying they had anything to do with it._

_and then there was the religious news; people claiming to see and be haunted by monsters and demons, claiming they saw the shadows in their homes come to life. tormented over and over._

truthfully, the world had never seemed so bleak.

which was why, even with the anger settled in your chest, you try your best to keep your outlook bright. you’re well appreciated at your job, you’re paid well - and your company just so happens to not be one of the ones poisoning people.

it’s on your way to this job that you meet him for the first time.

his hair is long and black, features sharp and narrow, eyes filled with rage as he stands shouting outside of Plydex’s headquarters, megaphone held in hand.

you give him nothing more than a sidelong glance, but your eyes meet all the same.

“sign this petition.”

you look away for a second only for him to suddenly be standing in front of you, clipboard and pen shoved into your face.

“i’m not interested in signing away my soul today, thanks.” you say, attempting to sidestep around him and failing as he follows your steps.

“i’m not asking for your soul, i’m asking for your signature. we want to show that the citizens are enraged by what’s happening here at plydex. you’ll be nothing more than a number. unless you think what’s happening behind these doors is safe and secure just like chen says they are? are you so mindless?” his words are quick and venomous, eyes narrowed.

“i most certainly am not mindless. the only people who can’t see what’s happening here are the ones being paid not to see.” you sigh angrily. “give me the fucking clipboard.”

the man smirks as he hands it to you, watches as you angrily sign your name and shove it back into his chest.

“i’m late for work. try not to be so fucking rude to people when you want their help.” you strut away from him towards your building, doing your best to tamp down on the rage boiling in your blood.

your temper begins to show more than usual for a monday. no matter how much coffee you drink and how much you try to calm yourself by breathing, everything that happens serves only to grate on your nerves.

and it’s not even a particularly bad day. nothing really goes wrong, everything is running smoothly, and yet - and yet you feel a deep rage curling under your skin.

you leave early, citing a migraine, and decide what you need is a glass - or three - of wine and a long soak in a hot bath before turning in early for the night. you’re probably just tired, more than anything.

you step out of the grocery store, bottle of wine and frozen pizzas in hand for the night, and you see him again.

the man from the protest is standing across the street, leaning against an archway outside of a cafe. he smirks when he sees you, turning away and walking down a dark alley on the side of the building. you cross the street and peer down the alleyway, but he’s already gone.

you think about how long the alley is, for him to have disappeared, and then you think about the wine and your bathtub waiting at home, and your thoughts of the man disappear.

* * *

you hear in the news that there have been several attempts on the life of mr.chen. you think often of how he deserves it, how you hope one of them will succeed and bring that whole company to its knees.

the man from the protest seems to agree with you.

you find this out when you run into him again - this time on a saturday a few weeks later as you sit by the river, reading.

he sits down next to you and says nothing, although he scoffs at your choice of book.

“you know, if you’re going to be rude every single time i see you, i’d rather you just left me alone.” you say, not even glancing up from your page.

he hums softly. “oh, well, forgive me. if reading such things makes you happy then please. by all means.”

“it’s a nice distraction from the shitstorm of reality. that’s all. besides.” you close the book and look at him. “the romantic plot is good.”

“oh?” the man laughs softly. “a romantic, are you?”

“you could say that.” you shrug. “it’s definitely nice to think about.”

“why don’t you tell me about it?” he asks, and when you raise your eyebrows at him he asks, “what?”

“you literally were just shitting on my book. and now you want me to tell you about it?” you narrow your eyes at him. “i don’t even know your name.”

“it’s minghao.” he says, taking the book from your hands and reading the back cover. “ah, one of the dystopian novels. you do realize we’re essentially living one of these now? and there are things you can do to make a change.”

you take the book back from him and clutch it to your chest. “do you want me to tell you about the book or not?”

he laughs loudly and lays back, hands resting underneath his head. “go for it.”

when you begin describing the plot to him, minghao remains mostly quiet. every now and then he quips about what a shitty decision the protagonists had made, how if they wanted to affect change they should have done this, not that.

“well if you’re such an expert on affecting change,” you snip, “why haven’t you solved all the world’s problems then?”

minghao sits up and fixes you with a look you aren’t sure how to read. “i only have one mission in mind right now.”

“mission?” you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat.

“i want to stop chen, and bring plydex down.” his tone, for however unreadable his face is, is stone cold and serious. you set the book down next to you and look at him, eyebrows raised. he lets out a breath before he continues.

“i want you to help me.”

* * *

when you had agreed to help minghao, you’d thought he’d meant something along the lines of helping him get signatures.

minghao shows up at your door dressed in all black and telling you to hurry and do the same. he leads you towards the plydex building with a duffel bag slung on his shoulder, and your heart thunders to think of what might be in it.

“what - what are we doing?” you ask, fingers trembling. trembling, or possibly itching to do something, anything to cause hurt to this man who had hurt so many.

minghao doesn’t answer you, instead pressing his gloved-hand to the handle of the door and closing his eyes before pushing the door open. you’re surprised when the alarms don’t go off, but you follow him into the building anyway, your feet seemingly moving of their own accord.

“ming-minghao,” you whisper, running up behind him as quietly as you can. “minghao, what are we doing in here?”

“we’re going to break.”

“what - what does that fucking mean, minghao?” you whisper angrily, body still following his as if enchanted, as if you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

he turns to you and his eyes are narrow, angry slits, mouth pulled into sneer. “i said we’re going to break, what do you think it means? we’re going to bust shit up. well,” he reconsiders. “you’re going to bust shit up, and i’m going to get into his computers, get the real reports that they must be hiding.”

“i didn’t agree to this, minghao, i don’t -”

“oh please.” he scoffs, getting in your face. “you want to ruin everything this scum-fucker has, don’t you? you want him to suffer?”

“i-i i mean -” minghao grabs you by the jaw and looks straight into your eyes.

“i want to hear you say it. i know it’s how you feel, deep down. i can see all the rage you have inside of you.” his grip is firm on your jaw and his voice is dark. “why bother denying yourself?”

you take a deep breath and nod feverishly, “i want - i want him to suffer, like he’s made all those people suffer.”

minghao releases you and nods. “good. let’s continue. take the duffel bag and get started. i’m going upstairs to find the researcher’s wing.”

you take the offered bag from him and nod. you can feel the hate and anger he spoke up settling under your skin. you try not to think about how familiar it feels to be so angry, so full of hate.

you open the bag, and you find the guns.

you’ve never used a gun before. but as you pull one from the bag, it feels familiar, like the anger. it feels easy and light in your hands.

it feels good, to hear shattering of the glass as you pull the trigger over, and over, and over.

when you pass by the building two days later, on your way to work, you can’t help the righteous self-satisfaction that climbs into your chest as you see the shattered windows in the light of day, zigzagged by police tape.

minghao begins to enlist your help in other ways.

he comes to you in the dead of night, handing you flashdrives full of secret reports and records of money transfers to those who have publicly given their support to Plydex and its CEO. the two of you deface dozens of their business, sneaking in the dead of night to do so much more than shatter windows.

you follow him to the homes of these people, where you stand watch outside while he goes in, and you pretend you don’t revel in their screams.

they deserve it, you think. they’ve done nothing but help chen along in his mission to let innocent people suffer and die.

months pass, and you and minghao somehow continue to elude the authorities while the trial continues and chen evades punishment.

it’s cold night in the middle of winter when minghao comes to you next.

over the months the two of you have grown incredibly close - everything about minghao had drawn you in, everything from the beauty of his face to the passion of his soul, and you have never in your life felt as though you belonged with someone the way you belonged with him.

you felt, deep down into your soul, that you belonged together.

on this cold night, when he comes to you, he greets you as he always does with a deep kiss and a hand running through your hair.

“tonight is very, very important.” he says softly. “you’ll need all the rage, and all the anger you can gather in order to take care of this job with me. and when it’s done,” he kisses you again, “everything will be over, and we’ll have won. alright?”

“yes.” you whisper against his mouth. “i’m ready for this all to be over.”

he leads you down into the richest regions of the city, along well-lit streets with militantly-beautiful lawns and gardens, sticking as best you can to the shadows. you walk past cars that cost more than you pay in rent for a whole year and feel contempt soaking into your bones. your face falls into what has become it’s most common feature: mouth set into a firm line, eyes hard and focused.

the two of you creep up the driveway of the home at the farthest end of the street. minghao has the ever-present duffel bag slung onto his shoulder. the two of you enter the front door silently, and you sneak up the stairs just as quietly.

you come to stand before a door, and minghao comes up behind you. “this is it.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck. he sets down the duffel bag and hands you a bat. “remember what i told you about your rage.”

you nod and open the door.

“i’ll be right behind you.” you hear, and you nod again. you step forward slowly into the bedroom, and you suppose you should be more surprised by what you see.

there, asleep in his bed, lies mr.chen.

“do it.” you hear minghao whisper. “make him suffer.”

you raise the bat high, and move closer to the bed. your hands tremble. you never expected it to come to this. but something inside you snaps. you have the chance to end so much suffering.

something inside you snaps, and your vision goes red with rage, and then it goes black.

the next thing you know, the moment your vision clears, you are greeted with the sight before you and you are simultaneously filled with the feeling of glorious victory and a massive wave of nausea.

there, lying in his bed, is what remains of mr.chen. there, in your hands, is the weapon with which his end was met - covered in blood and brains and bits of tissue. where his face was is only now a sunken, bloody hole. his hands are clenched as if he’d tried to reach up to stop you.

you feel a burning at the back of your throat and you turn your head, the contents of your stomach making their way back up your esophagus and onto the plush carpet. you cough and sputter, chest heaving. you turn, eyes searching for minghao, but you come face to face with someone else instead.

it’s then that you notice the flashing blue and red lights shining in through the windows. your chest heaves, and you feel the tears begin to stream down your face.

“put your hands behind your back, and don’t move.”

when they take you in for questioning, they ask you why you did it.

“he asked me to.” you tell them. “i’d do anything to end the suffering. mr.chen deserved to rot.”

“who asked you to? surely not mr.chen.”

“the owner of my soul.” you tell them.

when they leave you, you sigh and begin to cry.

you hear his voice, one last time.

“you have no idea how right you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [tumblr](https://seungcheolsbodyharness.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/carebearcoupsie)


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